


Paint a pretty picture with your pain

by Baryshnikov



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Asphyxiation, Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Non-Consensual, Sadism, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 09:49:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16134773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baryshnikov/pseuds/Baryshnikov
Summary: Tom had always wanted to take complete physical control of someone, Avery might just give him the opportunity to do that





	Paint a pretty picture with your pain

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Breath](https://archiveofourown.org/works/114531) by [skazka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skazka/pseuds/skazka). 



> I have never written this pairing, and if it hadn't been for late-night curiosity and the fic that inspired this, I probably never would've. I hope it isn't too bad, as this lovely little pairing deserves a bit more love, twisted perverted love, but love nonetheless.

It had first appealed to him when Avery was too drunk for his own good. They were at a party, a Malfoy affair, filled with more glamour than substance. Avery was too young but that hadn’t seemed to stop him. Tom watched him stumble, arms heavy on the fancy furniture, barely able to stand, let alone walk.  
Tom wasn’t entirely sure what compelled him to help Avery, maybe it was pity or disgust at such helplessness, but whatever it was, he’d hauled him over his shoulder and all but dragged him up the stairs to his assigned room. He watched as Avery spilled onto the bed, his whole body turned to liquid. Limbs splayed, hair a mess, he looked quite common, but also quite charming, in his own way. If Tom was honest he’d prefer to look at Malfoy with his cut-glass features made from marble, or even Lestrange with his wild eyes and wild habits, but perhaps Avery had his own appeal. He looked younger than the others, fresher, some would mistake it for innocence, but Avery wasn’t innocent, he was just as sick as the rest of them, he just didn’t flaunt it so obviously.  
Tom had planned on leaving him there, lying on the bed. Abandon him and go to his own room and lie staring at the ceiling until he fell asleep. He was going to until Avery’s hands clutched at his jacket and pulled him down onto the bed, making him stay. Avery had leaned closer, pulling Tom towards him. His breath was stained with alcohol and his eyes were blurred, “you’re – you’re fucking gorgeous, Tom,” he said, words eliding together, tongue far too loose for Tom’s taste.  
“I always – always wanted to, tell you, you know.” Avery grinned looking up at Tom with his pretty blue eyes. “You’re not – you’re not mad at me, are you Tom? Not going to break my neck, are you Tom?” he laughed, dropping his head back against the pillow and letting Tom’s jacket go. Tom would have hexed him then and there had it not been for the knowledge that Avery probably wouldn’t remember it, that took all the fun out of it. Instead, he just watched Avery carefully, admiring the delicacies of his face. A part of him had always known Avery harboured some sort of affection, it was an open secret how long Avery’s eyes lingered on him. The way that words seemed to clog his throat whenever Tom was around, and the general awkwardness that seemed to envelop him. Tom had treated him just as he treated all the others, with a distant disdain, in the hope it would reduce such a childish affection. It hadn’t, and Avery’s little infatuation remained an ever-present addition to their group.  
Tom watched Avery’s chest rise and fall, eyes closed. Lying there on his back, head tilted, neck on display; Avery looked so exposed, so vulnerable, so defenceless. Perhaps that was why he leaned in closer, watched as Avery’s precious blue eyes opened and got so much wider. Tom only brushed his lips across Avery’s, but the noise the latter made was filthy, filled with childish desperation and nervous longing. He kissed him again; Avery’s kisses were so sloppy, lips slack, careless, spit running down his chin, but Tom indulged him.  
This wasn’t the first time he’d kissed someone, it was, however, the first time he kissed someone who couldn’t stop him. There was a thrill in knowing he was entirely in control, that even if Avery had wanted him to stop, he couldn’t make him; he could barely lift his own head up off the pillow.  
Tom let his hands dip lower, exploring another body for the first time. Comforted by the knowledge that Avery probably wouldn’t remember anything, and even if he did, that was easily remedied. For now, though, he was free to explore as he wished. He felt Avery’s hip bones through his trousers and his ribs under his shirt. He traced a hand down the seams of that shirt, down past his belt, coming to rest on his inner thigh. Avery moaned, head tipping back further, showing off that lovely white neck. Avery had always had a lovely neck, so smooth, so delicate. Tom’s hands were drawn to it, fingers stroking upwards before settling on the base. Slowly Tom applied a little pressure, just enough for Avery’s sticky eyes to open again, a little more and Avery was groaning, hips rocking, back arching, a little more and he was choking.  
eTom could feel his pulse thudding under his palm, the heavy thrumming, the only true indication Avery was really alive at all, and not some complex fantasy that existed nowhere outside his mind. Avery’s mouth was moving but producing no words, no noise, for once a nice silence. He was beautiful like that, so quiet aside for a few strangled noises, still, so unable to stop Tom doing whatever he wanted. There was such power at that moment, holding another’s life so poignantly in his hands. He kept his hands there for as long as he could until Avery’s lips were tinged blue and his pulse was starting to slow. Then he reluctantly let go. Avery rolled on to his side retching and gasping, clumsy limbs trying unsuccessfully to steady himself.  
Tom watched him, intrigued, watching how weak Avery really was like this, how not in control of anything, how easy it would have been to go that much further. He rewarded Avery for his trouble, fingers smoothing circled on his hip, dropping a hand between his thighs, touching, stroking, caressing. His other hand against Avery’s neck, rubbing the soreness until he was sobbing until he was moaning until he was contorting, body curling around Tom’s hand; pathetic little whimpers sliding off his tongue.  
Tom left him like that, cheek damp with spit and feeble tears, whole body trembling, and an obvious wetness between his legs.  
~  
Tom lay undressed on his bed, staring at the ceiling, still seeing Avery’s life ebb away before him, watching his eyes lose focus, watching his body convulse. It made his throat dry, seeing something so profound, so simple, so intimate. Tom could get drunk on the feeling, the images circling, spinning, gyrating around his head, reminding him how powerless Avery really was. It was sickening and appalling, and undeniably gorgeous. A heat spilled into his stomach as he imagined all the possibilities: the harsh red lines of a ligature pulled too tight, watching them turn blue and green and sickly yellow. Watching Avery trying to hide them. Oh, it was so good to imagine, those blue eyes raw and red, voice so hoarse, fingers struggling against Tom’s hands, leaving scratches on his knuckles. Tom traced his own fingers down his stomach, just thinking of Avery’s pretty blue eyes misting over, crossing the line between pleasure and pain, hazy with desire but bursting with fear, was overwhelming. Avery’s entire body overflowing with horror, weakness seeping from every crack, spilling over his edges until he was dripping with it. Tom rolled onto his side, head buried in the pillow, hips trembling, rubbing himself. The writhing of Avery’s body, the desperation to get away. The fear, the panic, the distress, when Avery’s clouded mind realised what Tom wanted to do. And the thoughts of what he could do: the bruises that would surely be left all over Avery; purple fingerprints in his white skin, aching throat so sore to touch. Tom fancied biting it, make Avery wince, tense, adrenaline sliding through him. He could push it too far, watch Avery slip from reality, eyes rolling back, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, becoming nothing. Kissing unresponsive lips, tasting a flaccid tongue. He could see it going wrong, so wrong, so perfectly, brilliantly wrong. Avery lying limp and lifeless, hands still scrunched in the sheets, pretty, broken neck on display to the world. He would make such a pretty corpse, lips tinted blue, eyes stained red, bones so delicate through his paper skin. Tom shuddered, abdomen juddering, breath shaky, finally overcome.  
Slowly, the world stopped spinning and he plummeted back to reality, he felt cold lying alone on the silky duvet. Tom just lay there in the stillness, eyes adapting to the dull yellow light: his exhales, whilst slowing, still loud and sticky in the quiet, and still, the single solitary image Avery’s corpse was seared into his mind.  
~  
He did not see Avery the next morning, or for the entire day. He would pretend he hadn’t thought about him, but he would be lying. Avery’s big blue eyes had plagued his thoughts, like a constant hum in the background of his life. Thinking rationally, it probably wasn’t Avery specifically, it was more the feeling of having someone’s life so blatantly in his hands, and maybe even more importantly than that, the fact that they wanted him like that. It felt good, so good, that thinking about it made his stomach twist and an anticipation manifest itself in his heart. A figure with Avery’s face, head back, neck exposed, dark red fingerprints like bloodstains patterning the skin, joining the freckles, connecting his past and present and future and – Tom looked up.  
“Riddle were you listening?” said Malfoy, clearly irritated,  
“Of course, I was.”  
“What did I say then?”  
Tom paused, not entirely happy with such insubordination, “since when did I answer to you, Malfoy? Anyway, what would be the point of me repeating it, we all know what you said, and it was thoroughly uninteresting, Malfoy, so I’m not going to waste my breath repeating it.”  
Malfoy glared, but shut his mouth, letting the conversation aimlessly drift again. Though Malfoy’s eyes kept flicking over. Tom knew the look, Malfoy was trying to formulate a question that would get what he wanted without outright insulting him, it would take him a very long time.  
~  
Tom retreated to his room, away from the prying eyes, the sideward glances all trying to see into his head. He could feel them buzzing around him, a constant hum that was as exhausting as it was irritating. All of them should really know better, he didn’t let anyone see his thoughts, but particularly not pathetic little sycophants.  
So involved was he in his own thoughts, he nearly didn’t hear the quiet knock at his door; he wanted to ignore it, after all, it was probably Malfoy having finally found a question that was suitable. Tom would have been quite happy to not answer the door and leave Malfoy standing outside like the spoilt idiot he was, but he had to remain at least vaguely civil.  
It was not Malfoy outside, but Avery. He was standing awkwardly in the doorway, hands twisting and a nervous look on his face. “Sorry – is this a good time?” he said. Tom surveyed him for a moment: his collar was too high though he could still see a rosy blemish as delicate as a petal, protruding from behind the fabric.  
Tom opened the door wider and Avery stepped in, staying close to the wall, declining the seat Tom offered.  
“What is it then?” Tom said, trying to sound moderately concerned. Avery continued to fidget, not meeting Tom’s eyes. “I don’t have all day, Avery.”  
“Sorry. I just – At that party, yesterday, did I – say anything?”  
“It was over five hours long, I’m going to need you to be a little more specific.”  
“Malfoy said you – took me to my room, and I don’t really remember, so…” he trailed off and seemed to find some infinite fascination with the carpet.  
“So?”  
“So – umm – I just wanted for you to take anything I said with a pinch of salt. I was – very drunk, you know, so I don’t know what I said, but…”  
Tom smiled a little, “you think you said something though, or you wouldn’t be telling me to take it with a pinch of salt now, would you?”  
“I don’t know Riddle, I said, I can’t remember. I just –”  
Tom smiled again, approaching Avery. The latter drew himself closer to the wall, looking, well Tom liked to think, a little scared. “Don’t look so worried Avery. Though, you did say some words that I found exceptionally – interesting.”  
Avery’s eyes were lined with fear, he swallowed, and Tom couldn’t help but watch. Watching the red marks, he’d left behind. How he wanted to do that again, wanted to do more than that, leave bruises Avery couldn’t deny, leave lacerations between his ribs and grazes on his spine. Wrap every inch of Avery in a delectable suffering.  
“You told me I was gorgeous; do you want to revoke that statement?” he asked, hand on Avery’s shoulder. Avery shook his head, never taking his eyes off Tom.  
“Do you know what else you tried to do?”  
“No?”  
Tom smiled and leaned closer, the hand on Avery’s shoulder, sliding to his neck, the other dragging across his thigh. “You tried to kiss me, Avery.”  
“Sorry – I – it – sorry, Riddle.”  
Tom leaned closer still, lips wet against Avery’s ear, both hands gripping tighter, “you should be Avery. I don’t like such disobedience; such waywardness, it is simply so undesirable.”  
Avery swallowed and tried to say something, searching desperately for a justification. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Tom continued.  
“I hadn’t finished, Avery.” Tom smiled when Avery stopped squirming. He ran his fingers up that pretty neck, undoing Avery’s top button and slipping his fingers across the blossoming bruises. Avery winced but didn’t say anything.  
“What happened here?” he asked, simultaneously scraping his hand across Avery’s neck and between his thighs. Tom felt him tense, and when he exhaled a soft groan left his lips.  
“I asked what happened?”  
“I don’t know,” Avery said, biting his lip as Tom’s thumb across his abdomen before sliding under his waistband.  
“You must have some idea. A suspicion, an inkling of who did that to you.”  
Avery shook his head.  
“Do you remember what it felt like? That ache becoming a throb, losing control of everything, being so weak, so at mercy to the faceless being that did this.”  
Avery moaned, “I – I – Tom I don’t...”  
Tom closed his eyes and smiled. He knew deep in his heart he should wait, wait for Avery to want this, really, undeniably want it, wait until he was so willing, so desperate to give himself so entirely. But he looked delicious like this. Face overflowing with terror mixed with a pathetic expectation, and eagerness to let Tom do things he didn’t understand.  
Tom ran his fingers down Avery’s neck, across his collarbones before hovering over the hollow. He pressed it, watching Avery’s sudden intake of breath. Slowly he spread his hand until he was cupping half of Avery’s lovely neck. Fingers aligning themselves to the little red blemishes he’d left behind.  
“Do you like this Avery? Like me doing this? I can give you all the attention you need; you only have to ask me. I can do all those nasty things to you if you’re willing. Or even if you’re not.” He mouthed at Avery’s neck, just below the ear. Feeling him slacken like a rope finally bowing under an immense weight.  
“Would you like that Avery, like me to do things to you that would make your parents blush, like to my experiment, my dirty little secret?”  
“Yes,” Avery said barely audible despite the silence.  
“Will you do exactly what I want, because I know what you want?”  
“Yes.”  
“Will you never object to anything?”  
“Yes,” Avery said, breath short and hips rocking helplessly.  
Tom smiled, teeth skimming his jaw, “I like you, Avery, you’re so sure of yourself, so decided, so absolute,” Tom said, finally kissing him. Avery’s lips were hot and wet and desperate. Gasps low and husky, eyes squeezed shut, one hand gripping Tom’s arm like it was the last connection to reality. Oh, he was perfect, so willing, so needy; face flushed. Tom could just hold his neck, practically feeling the blood pounding through him. Pulse throbbing, hands twitching. Avery was everything he’d wanted him to be: wretched, helpless. Letting Tom take absolute control. It was – it was completely devastating, so he couldn’t help himself as he pressed his body against Avery’s, feeling every jerk, every jolt, every spasm of his body. He could do this again, and again, and again. Avery against the wall, the bed, the floor, anywhere, bruises never healing, leaving his neck permanently stained with contusions that everybody could see. The knowledge that at any moment he could push it too far, make their reverie a materiality. He pressed his mouth Avery’s, tasting the fear, the panic, the adrenaline; it was so sweet, so satisfying. Tom could feel his breathing, so much heavier than he’d like it to be, he was letting himself sink too far into the fantasy, but for a second, he wanted to drown, be submerged by this endless sensation until he was choking as well.  
Only Avery’s head dropping against his shoulder returned him to the edge reality. He dropped his hand from Avery’s throat.  
Avery took several seconds before he dragged himself back into consciousness, eyes hazy, voice hoarse, hands trembling, and a hypnotic terror in his eyes. He was already under suffering’s spell, it had shown him endless possibilities and Avery wanted them all.  
They stayed silent, staring at each other, finally comprehending what each of them really wanted. Eventually, Tom broke their quietude, “keep this a secret and you can have it forever,” he murmured, lips against Avery’s mouth; Avery nodded, eyes never leaving Tom’s.

**Author's Note:**

> I might add to this if I ever get the urge to write this sort of thing again.


End file.
